


Blame It on the Booze

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-26 21:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a bit of college AU smut. Freshman Dean seduces Resident Assistant Castiel but who's seducing whom? Originally posted for HannahBag and Akadougal on Twitter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blame It on the Booze

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dedougal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/gifts), [HannahBag](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=HannahBag).



It's not his damn fault. First off, he's pretty sure someone's spiked the punch. Someone with the initials D.W., but he's drunk, you can't take his word for it. Second of all, it's not as if the RA (whose job it is to hold this whole shindig) is fighting him. He could have said "Dean, you're drunk," or "Take your hands off me, please," or any of those things that uptight RAs with strange names tend to say when they're hit on by freshmen at mixers.

But this particular RA, with the strange name of Castiel Novak, took his glasses off and looked down at them, perplexed, long enough for Dean to lean in and lick a soft swipe along his bottom lip. And When he looked back up, he didn't put his glasses back on. He just stepped back, into the alcove behind the coat hangers, out of public view, and reached for Dean's necktie.

There was a flash of purposeful blue eyes, and now...

Dean can barely breathe, definitely can't think at all, not under the assault of Castiel's lips. Hands wrap around his collar, loosening his tie where it cinches at the top, and Dean's still busy looking for explanations when Castiel pulls it out and slings it around Dean's waist instead, pulling him in hip to hard hip. All the time with soft rushing breaths into his mouth, with pink lips nibbling on his, quick, hurried, desperate.

"Cas," Dean starts, and he tries to attach the second part of his name but every time he closes his lips for the S Castiel's lips seal them shut with wax-hot kisses. "Cas- hey--" It's no good, and he can't blame the alcohol because nobody who's drunk enough to come on to the tightass RA ever was able to maintain an erection this hard for this long. No, God help him, he's barely tipsy, and Castiel's gotta be stone-cold sober despite the incredible hard lump of his cock radiating heat through Dean's pelvic bone and making him moan uselessly against Castiel's mouth.

"We should go upstairs," Castiel hisses, the first words he's said.

"Yeah," Dean murmurs, sliding his tongue into Cas' mouth, hands finally finding the wherewithal to stroke down across his neck, shoulders, along his spine. Castiel shudders in his arms and Dean swears he sees sparks. "I had no idea--"

"You have no idea about a lot of things," and that tears it, it's definitely the selfsame grumpy-ass RA he's been lusting after since the start of the school year.

Dean laughs, shakily, against his mouth. "I want to do the most obscene things to you," he murmurs.

"I want you to--" The 'stop talking' is on the tip of his tongue, but Castiel swallows it, Dean can see him swallow it, and he drops Dean's tie to the floor and pushes his hands, bare and hot, onto the small of Dean's back. "I want you to," he says again, fervently, and this time it's the whole sentence.

-

Dean's been in here once before, the standard visit-to-say-hi that all the freshmen had to schedule with the RA, and he doesn't remember much about it, just that there was a big, floppy beanbag chair and that Castiel was hot. This time Castiel's still hot, but this time Castiel's also all over him, hands wrapped around his spine and mouth hot on his all the way up in the elevator and halfway down the hall, too, turning Dean into the one totally worried about being seen.  
So maybe it's no surprise that now, with a mouthful and arms full of Castiel, he's finally paying attention to what's in the room.

Like a computer so old that it ought to be retired to the dustbin of history. Like photographs of what look like siblings, a red-haired girl, an older-looking guy with a pert nose. Like a bunch of comic books -- who'd have thought? -- and a bed that Castiel seems to be missing entirely as he pushes Dean right down onto that ginormous red beanbag chair and sits down neatly in his lap.

And OK with that much Castiel on top of him Dean stops looking around at the room.

"You sure this is OK?" Dean asks, and he thinks his eyes are probably crossed, he's trying to take in so much of Castiel at once. His hands are trembling as they rake, hot and curious, up Castiel's sides.

"Dean." The way Castiel says his name, like there's a lifetime's worth of purpose under it... God, it's breathtaking. "Do you remember what we talked about at our first meeting?"

God, no, he doesn't remember a damn thing but those blue eyes. "Yeah, of course."

"I don't." Castiel leans forward and kisses him hotly, lips nipping at his. "I only remember the way you looked in your leather jacket." Breathed into his mouth, sealed with a quick lick of tongue. "The way your lips pressed together."

Dean's shaking, he doesn't remember slipping his hands under Castiel's shirt but he's definitely feeling bare back now, definitely feeling that insane bliss of skin on skin, and arching up, needing more of it, until his forearms are pressed against Castiel's back, his wrists crossed and hands spread over Cas' shoulder blades. "I remember only wanting to grip you by the arm and--"

Dean cuts him off by forcing the dress shirt up and over Castiel's head. When he pulls it free, static has charged up Castiel's hair until it's standing straight up on his head.

Castiel works at his buttons and Dean wants to watch, stare at those impeccable hands forever, but there's also Castiel's neck to consider,and it's wide open as Castiel frowns down at him. So much to touch, to taste, and Dean can't wait, can't think of any reason he waited this long to begin with. He groans and surges forward and latches his lips onto Castiel's neck, sucking hard, and Castiel gives a noise Dean didn't know he was capable of, a sustained groan-sigh that breaks off at the end like an unruly firecracker.

It's too much for Dean to stand. He pulls his shirt off and grabs Castiel by both wrists, pushes him down into the chair, and now finally, after all this seduction and all this surprise he's the one on top, god DAMN it. He buries himself in Castiel's neck and murmurs, sliding and slotting the two of them together chest to chest, cotton of painfully tented dress pants together, groaning his own confessions in each exhalation.

"Thought I was going crazy," he says, and sucks on Castiel's ear. "Thought I wasn't gonna survive, thought you were fucking with me--" a wet lave of tongue just behind his ear, and Castiel cries out and clasps him close with trembling hands-- "gonna get my ass thrown out-- but you were so fucking beautiful--" He slides down, abruptly, captures a soft brown nipple between his teeth, flicks at it with his tongue, and Castiel cries out, his legs spreading and then folding around Dean's waist in a clear pleading press. Dean swears against his chest. "I really hope you don't wanna take it slow."

"No," Castiel says, each word a pant with a breath between. "Not... not slow... Dean... Dean, I... need..."

They need the bed is what they need, and lube, and a couple of other things, all of which Cas has handy -- too handy, unless Cas gets laid all the time, or unless he was planning, or hoping -- but then Dean's sinking into him and it doesn't fucking matter. "Jesus God Cas, too tight," Dean groans, and beneath him, on his hands and knees, Castiel just rears back into the weight and curve of his cock and moans encouragingly.

His cheek is pressed to the sheet - Dean had wanted to fuck him facing up, but Castiel had had his own ideas - and his knees are braced hard against the mattress. He's pounding upward with the strength of what must be thighs of pure muscle, and it's like nothing Dean's ever felt. He holds tight to Castiel's hips and rides like he's a wild bull, eyes opening wide and mouth hanging open.

"Harder," Castiel reaches back and pulls Dean's hand around his cock. "Harder, Dean."

"Jesus," Dean whispers, "how are you even real?" He curls forward, takes Castiel in hand and he doesn't even have to move, Castiel's body is doing it all, pushing him up and through the curved tunnel of his fingers, using Dean as a tool, a machine. It's the most amazing display of stamina Dean thinks he's ever seen, and with each sweaty lunge Castiel makes a desperate noise of need, something high and throaty that Dean can't even put a vowel sound to. For a moment he wonders if he even needs to be there at all, but then between those wheezy noises Castiel's whispering, "Dean, God, Dean," and everything inside Dean's gut lurches forward and leaves his brain spinning far behind.

"Cas, I'm not gonna hold out," he hears himself say, and it takes him a minute to realize that the mighty clench around him is Cas trying to hold back his own orgasm. "Oh, shit."

"Dean." Castiel presses his face further to the side twists his whole body, trying to look up, "I can't--"

"Oh, God." Dean's pushing up against the pressure, going faster, his hand tensing and relaxing obsessively, erratically around Castiel's cock. "Me neither-- Cas, I--"

"Dean--" Heat, bright and tingling, up from the base of him.

"Cas, come on--" Castiel's cock tightening beneath his fingertips.

"So good, so-- oh!"

And everything goes white, white and ragged and pulsing, Dean screams, he swears it feels he's screaming like a girl, his cock's being milked by pressure too hot and incredible to bear, beneath him Castiel's dick is pulsing in his hand, his hand's sticky, his thighs are slick, sweat caking their bodies together. And then somehow everything slides and shifts and they're side by side on the mattress, the condom clinging to Dean's spent cock, forgotten, because they're holding each other and laughing and kissing, kissing like they might forget how. Castiel's body is wet and warm and inviting against Dean's, his mouth delicious and dark, and blue eyes, best of all, when Dean pulls back to look at them blue eyes are dancing.

"So I'm, uh--" Dean manages when he can stop kissing and grinning for more than a second. "So I'm not in trouble then?"

"No." Castiel's mouth slides over his, lips solid and warm. After a moment: "Am I?"

Dean slides his arms around his waist and cinches them tight together. "Only in the best way," he murmurs, kissing a lock of mussed dark hair before letting his eyes close.


End file.
